


Careful, Now

by antimorston



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Caretaking, Established Relationship, Gunshot Wounds, Hair Braiding, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore, Pet Names, Wound Cleaning, just like, like mild enough that i almost didnt mention it, mostly - Freeform, taima is an angel i love her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-11 18:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antimorston/pseuds/antimorston
Summary: hello i stan two (2) cowboys with my entire heartif u liked this please feel free to leave a comment i promise that you will make my entire daymy charthur tumblr ishere!





	Careful, Now

Something wasn’t right. Charles had been gone for hours longer than he should’ve been. 

Arthur yanked a pocket watch out of the saddlebag on his horse, Wendy, as she cantered down the path, confirming it to be late. _Too_ late. Charles had left that morning, Taima trotting away from Shady Belle with a bounce in her step after Arthur had snuck her some sugar cubes, Charles promising to return with a nice deer to cook up. He had told Arthur that he was going to the forested area south of the Braithwaite property before he had left, leaving him with a chaste kiss and the scent of cigarettes. 

Now, it was just around dusk, and he had no trail to follow, just an area to search and some hope to count on. He neared a rundown house on the edge of the patch of thick forest, pulling Wendy to a halt. 

“Charles?” He called, only the eerie chatter of the southern woods answering him. He scrunched his face up and took a breath, trying to listen for something, _anything_. “Taima?” He tried next, still earning no response. Until his horse forcibly turned away from the forest, making his attention shift to the trail. Nothing was there, but he trusted Wendy more than he trusted himself, so he tried again. “Taima? Here, girl.” Wendy nickered and took a step toward the path, right as the gorgeous black, grey, and white mare cantered into view, her hooves almost silent on the soft dirt. Arthur grinned. “There you are,” he purred, dismounting and making his way over to where she had stopped, treading the soil below her with nervous hooves. He placed one hand on her neck and pulled a sugar cube from his satchel with the other, giving it to her in hopes of calming her. Her saddle was slightly askew, all of Charles’s weapons still stored on it, and suddenly Arthur felt his blood run cold. He walked over to her side and righted the saddle before climbing on quickly. “It’s alright,” he cooed, leaning forward to pat her neck. “It’s okay.” Sitting on Charles’s saddle, on Charles’s horse, _alone_ , was weird, but he had certainly been in weirder situations, so he simply collected the reins in his hands and whistled for Wendy to follow. “Taima, girl,” he started, leaning forward until his face was almost in her mane, “where’s Charles?” She stomped her foot and huffed, so Arthur took another moment to calm her before he let the fear course through him again. He had to find him. “ _Charles_ ,” he said, as if reminding her of their favorite human’s name. “Find him.” 

She did. 

She had nickered and taken off straight into the trees, leading him to a section of trampled underbrush near the center of the forest. Charles lay face-down next to a tree, almost the entirety of his blue shirt tinged with red. Arthur held his breath. “Stay, girl,” he managed as he scrambled to get off of Taima’s saddle. He headed over to Charles, noting the rise and fall of his back with something much more intense than relief. Like the world had been lost beneath his feet and he had finally taken a sure step. He felt the breath he had been holding fall out of his mouth as he crouched at Charles’s side. “Charles,” he murmured, almost afraid to let his hand ghost over the larger man’s side. 

Arthur had seen him in worse shape, but he was still filled with dread. He could see a great tear along the shoulder of his shirt, blood permeating the fabric there thicker than anywhere else. He bit at his lip and took a firm hold on the larger man’s side, almost gagging at the slick of blood he felt along the fabric. Sure, he dealt in blood. More than he would’ve ever liked to, actually. But on _Charles?_ His love? The strongest person he knew? It was too much. 

He grunted as he rolled Charles onto his back, careful not to hit the wound spanning his shoulder on anything as he lowered that side to the ground. He shifted to be able to watch Charles’s face, his lover’s expression blank and bloodied. Arthur settled his hand against the wounded man’s pulse point, feeling it as strong and steady as ever, then moved on to cradle his face. “Charles,” he tried again, pressing a thumb against his cheek to wipe away some blood. “Come on, now,” he whispered, leaning in close. Charles was breathing in jagged gasps, but he looked otherwise as though it was not an emergency, so he hadn’t passed out for lack of blood, Arthur decided. It looked as though he had taken a moment to rest and had fallen asleep. Arthur’s skin crawled. That wasn’t like him. Regardless, it didn’t seem as though Charles was going to wake up easily, but Arthur gave his best shot. “Charles,” he repeated for what felt like the millionth time. He moved forward enough to speak directly against Charles’s ear, still holding his hands against the gorgeous, bloodied face he yearned for when they were apart. “Wake up, sweetheart. Come on.” His warm breath was met with a hum, not unlike that of Arthur himself when he woke up at the insistence of the huntsman. 

“Arthur?” Charles asked, his voice broken and sluggish. Arthur shot up, eyes widening. 

“Charles!” He breathed. His blue eyes met rich brown ones, and he found that while they held pain, they held more relief. “What happened?” He eyed the gash again, deciding it was a bullet wound that hadn’t been fully on-target. It looked a lot like a bad graze, but with the shirt still clinging to the edges of the wound and the blood caked all around it, it most likely seemed worse than it was. 

Charles started to sit, using his good arm to prop himself up on the dirt, and Arthur moved quickly to slide a supporting arm behind him. Charles blinked at him, as if studying the layers upon layers of worry plaguing Arthur. Finally, he opened his mouth to answer. “Lemoyne Raiders,” he said, once his breathing leveled, “they thought I was–” Charles screwed his face into a mocking scowl “– _encroaching on they huntin’ grounds_.” He huffed out a laugh, which turned into a pained wheeze as he closed his eyes and settled back against the tree. Arthur helped him get more comfortable, then withdrew his no longer necessary arm. “Shot at me, then they heard one of their horses spook, so they ran off.” Charles shifted as though he was in mild pain, just past uncomfortable, and raised his eyes to meet Arthur’s. He looked up at the sky through the roofing of trees, pondering. “Been laying here for a few hours now, what took you so long?” The corners of his mouth turned upwards after asking the teasing question, but him blinking blood out of his eye ruined the charm of the moment. 

Arthur scowled, worried. “Figured you wandered a bit farther from home,” he lied. _Been thinking about you all day. Been worried. Wanted to follow you out since the minute you left. Should have._

“I’m home now,” Charles answered, his teasing smile turned soft. Arthur bit at his lip and shook his head. 

“Anything hurt too bad?” He asked after the blush receded from his cheeks. 

Charles said no, but the wince buried deep in his expression at the movement convinced Arthur otherwise. 

Arthur stood, weighing his options. “Not gonna die on me, right?” 

“No, sir,” Charles cooed, pulling a laugh from behind the worried scowl of Arthur’s face. He turned away and made his way toward where the horses had stopped. 

“We ain’t too far from the gang,” Arthur started, pulling his camping materials from Wendy’s saddle, “but I don’t wanna risk you gettin’ hurt worse on the way.”

Charles smiled slyly, his dark eyes holding an affectionate twinkle. “You sure that’s why we’re staying here? It’s not that you don’t want to sit down and take care of me yourself?” 

Arthur huffed. “I wouldn’t put you in danger like that, incompetent as I am. Just can’t have you bleedin’ out on Taima before we can get you to Grimshaw. Poor horse’ll be traumatized for life.” 

Charles hummed, still unconvinced. “I think you’ve been hurt on your lonesome enough that you’re a right professional at this by now.” He watched Arthur calmly as the cowboy started a fire, and received no response save for a humble smile. 

After a short while, Arthur had gotten the fire to a decent size, so he settled his stoking stick against a nearby tree and looked to where Charles was sitting. “I’m going to get some water to boil, gotta clean you up.” Charles nodded, sitting up further as if to keep an eye on his surroundings while Arthur was gone. 

Arthur whistled for Taima and Wendy, pulling himself onto Wendy with care as he eyed Taima’s saddle to make sure Charles had his canteen and his small food pot attached. He did, so Arthur glanced back to wave a brief farewell to his lover before he trotted off. The river wasn’t far, so it took more time for him to figure out how to bring the water back than it did for him to actually do so. 

He set the first pot up to boil as he returned to Charles’s side. “You doin’ alright?” He asked, fingers ghosting over the bloodied fabric. It was almost dry now, the wound having clotted on its own with the help of the soil it was pressed into while Charles was unconscious. 

“This is my favorite shirt,” Charles answered, tugging at the hem with the hand that he was able to move. 

“Mine too, honeybee.” Arthur’s sickeningly sweet pet name for him pulled a snicker from Charles as he tilted his head up to catch Arthur in a kiss. Arthur pulled away after a moment, shifting backward to start unbuttoning the shirt with ginger fingers. “I’ll fix it up while you’re healing,” the gunslinger offered. “If I can’t, I’ll get you a new one.” He had gotten all of the buttons undone by then, his hands hovering at the hem. “Can you get your arm through the sleeve?” He asked, helping keep Charles’s shirt from pulling at the wound until the larger man maneuvered his arm out. Arthur moved closer once the shirt was just around Charles’s neck and injured arm, then grasped at the open collar and lifted it over Charles’s head. As he did so, the long, inky black hair fell against his arm, and his attention was drawn to how tangled it had grown. “Love,” he said, letting the shirt settle over the wound as he stared at the mess of hair splayed over his forearm. 

Charles hummed, his eyes following Arthur’s down to his arm. 

“Can I brush your hair?” 

That earned him a startled “huh?” from Charles. Arthur smiled and moved his hand away, watching the tangles fall back against Charles’s bare shoulder. 

“Can I brush it out? It’s a _mess_ , Charles.” Surprised eyes met his, then Charles was grinning.

“Before you get this shirt out of my shoulder?” 

“‘Course not,” Arthur laughed. He turned his gaze to the bundle of fabric, the bottom part of which was dried into the edges of the wound, and his expression darkened. “This is gonna hurt,” he said, his hands moving to grab at the shirt. He waited for Charles to give him a look of affirmation before he started to pull on it, peeling it out of the wound with care. Charles hissed a breath through his clenched teeth, but Arthur didn’t pause. Better to get it over with. When the deed was done, he pulled the sleeve off and collected the bundle in his arms before setting it to the side. The wound was oozing blood where the farthest edges of scabbing had been torn away, but the scab was _all_ going to have to go soon, so Arthur left it until he could get clean water to wash it. “Think the water’s boiled,” he said after a moment. 

He stood and took the water off of the hook before replacing it with the second pot. Charles’s eyes followed him the whole way, watching as he paused as if in thought before walking to Wendy and digging around in one of the saddlebags. He finally pulled out two clean shirts, making his way back to Charles with a look of determination set on his face. 

“Which one do you like more?” He asked, holding them up. Charles raised an eyebrow. 

“Are you asking me for fashion advice? Right now?” Charles watched his face morph into confusion, then indignance and embarrassment. 

“No! Of course not, I-”

“-I don’t think it’s the time for that, my love.” Charles interrupted, the name making Arthur completely ignore the teasing in favor of watching him with a sort of lovestruck awe. He eventually got a hold of himself and brandished the shirts again. 

“Which one?” Charles gestured at one of them, which Arthur set to the side. He took the second one and ripped off the sleeves in two fluid motions. 

“ _Arthur_ ,” Charles said, “what are you doing?” 

Arthur looked at Charles as if it was obvious. “I’m going to have to clean your wound out, it’ll start bleeding again.” He paused for a moment, holding up one of the sleeves as if measuring it in comparison to Charles’s shoulder. “You’ll need something to wrap it.” Charles blinked up at him, eyes flicking to the undamaged shirt. “That one’s for you to wear,” Arthur added after following his line of sight. 

“Oh,” Charles whispered, a little taken aback. “You’d ruin two of your shirts for-?” He cut himself off, seemingly unsure of how to end the sentence. 

“‘Course I would,” Arthur answered quietly. “The one you’ll wear ain’t gonna get _ruined_ , anyways. May just have to wash some blood out, but it should be fine.” He laid the tattered shirt down next to Charles and returned to the cooling pot. It was warm to the touch, but not burning, so he brought it over as well. “Besides,” he said, as though it was only an afterthought, “I wouldn’t mind if you did ruin it; I like you more than I like my shirts.”

Charles hummed and watched Arthur continue to tear the sleeve. 

He dipped one portion of the cloth into the water then let it fall all of the way in. His expression grew thoughtful, prompting Charles to reach for him, fingers brushing tenderly along the knee of Arthur’s jeans. He looked up to meet Charles’s eyes, then smiled. He sat fully on the dirt, allowing himself to reach both of his hands toward Charles in return, then grasped at an unhurt portion of Charles’s shoulder before he spoke. 

“You’re lucky the panthers ain’t got to you,” he murmured, pulling Charles gently into his lap with almost no effort. Charles let out a breath, but it didn’t seem pained, so Arthur laid a hand across his chest and hushed him. “It’s alright, big man. I’ve got you.” 

He prepared the washing cloth that he had ripped from the shirt and let his eyes rove over the other man’s large chest. His skin was covered in splotches of dried blood, and Arthur placed the cloth with care and made sure to wipe away the entirety of one splotch before moving on to another. 

After a short while, only the wound remained to be cleaned, and Arthur slid himself out from under Charles to switch out the pots again, taking the empty one and filling it with the water from the canteens before placing it back to boil. The cooling pot was set near where Charles lay, and Arthur made his way back to his position under him, this time with the wound away from him so that it wouldn’t be too close for him to clean up.

“You doin’ alright?” He asked, running his hand through Charles’s hair gently. 

Charles smiled up at him and nodded. “You know it.”

“Good,” Arthur answered. “Because this is going to hurt like a bitch.”

Charles laughed. “S’long as I’ve got you here, I’m sure I’ll be alright.”

Just as before, he hissed when Arthur started to pull the filthy scabbing away, lifting a hand to grip at Arthur’s arm as he worked. 

“Christ,” he whispered. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You can't avoid me hurting.”

Arthur glanced at his face, eyeing the sheen of sweat and pained expression. “I know. I’m still sorry.”

He was more gentle after that, if it was even possible, his fingernails sliding around the edges of the scab before pulling, ever so carefully, upwards. 

After a torturous amount of time, Charles would have preferred for him to just yank it off, it was over with, and Arthur was pressing the cool cloth to the torn flesh. It hurt badly, but not as much as the removal of the scab, so Charles was able to relax, closing his eyes and turning his head toward Arthur’s chest. 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, breathing slow and controlled as Arthur pressed against the wound with the cloth. 

“For what?” Arthur asked, mostly out of habit, since he knew exactly what for.

“Coming to find me, cleaning me up.” 

Arthur paused, using one hand to cradle the side of Charles’s face. “Of course.” 

He removed the hand after a moment so that he could continue cleaning, one warm hand stabilizing Charles’s shoulder while the other worked carefully and diligently to get the dirt from the gash. It felt nice, in a painful way, Charles decided. To have someone who cared for him enough to do it with such gentleness, more than the action itself. 

It was over not long after, Arthur tossing the cloth into the pot and reaching for the wrappings he had prepared. He lifted Charles’s arm and slid a wide scrap of shirt under, wrapping it around the wound and securing it with another scrap. It was surprising how easily the process came to him, though Charles knew it was from practice. 

He could have worked as a medic, Charles found himself thinking, with his gentle hands and his hard to scare attitude. His gaze was intense on Arthur’s face, thinking about how he would look in the blues of a hospital nurse, when Arthur asked him if he was alright again. 

“Yes,” he answered, “you’re awful good at that.” 

Arthur grinned, a bit pained. “I’ve done it a lot.” 

“I know.” 

Before Charles knew it, Arthur was grabbing for the untorn shirt, handing it to Charles and helping him put it on. “Are you dizzy?” He asked as Charles shifted in his lap. 

“Not really,” Charles answered, “I don’t think I lost much blood.” 

“Good.” Arthur nodded, reaching out in an offer to button the shirt for Charles.

“I can do that myself,” Charles laughed, earning a sheepish smile.

“I know, love. Just want to help you.” He left the top button undone and moved his hand to Charles’s cheek again.

Charles hummed, pressing his face into Arthur’s hand. “I’m doing alright, we can stay here a little longer, right?” His gaze was soft as it focused on Arthur, his eyes hazy and half closed. 

“Mister Smith,” Arthur whispered, intending to come across as scandalized, though they both knew he was completely at Charles’s will. He trusted him, he loved him, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. He paused. “If you truly want to,” he answered. Charles smiled up at him, and Arthur was gone before, but to see Charles in _Arthur’s_ shirt, his usually luxurious hair in a messy halo around his head, sent him further gone than he could have ever dreamed. 

“I do,” Charles said. “Besides, you haven’t brushed my hair out yet, like you said you would.” 

Arthur smiled and leaned down to kiss him, his mouth tasting of sweat and moonshine. 

He helped him sit once they broke apart, placing him between his legs, so his back was near pressed to Arthur’s chest. Once Charles was comfortably sat in his position, Arthur moved back to be able to handle his hair better. He started at the ends, carefully pulling out the knots with the brush and pressing the occasional kiss to the back of Charles’s neck, when the hair was swooped to the side enough to expose his skin, that is. 

Arthur spent a long time brushing through the mess. It had appeared as though Charles had just been lying next to the tree in between the time in which he got shot and when Arthur found him, but his hair didn’t tell the same story. Maybe a bird had made a nest of it as Charles slept. Arthur smiled to himself and kept brushing, eventually working it back into its recognizable silky shine. 

“Can I braid it?” He asked as he set the brush down. 

“If you don’t make it a mess again,” Charles responded, bringing a hand up to feel through his hair. Arthur lifted his own to meet it, pulling it out of his locks and toward his lips instead. Charles laughed as Arthur kissed his knuckles, leaning back to press himself against Arthur’s chest. 

“Careful,” Arthur warned, breath warm against Charles’s hand, “don’t want to move around too much.” Charles nodded and took his hand back, leaning back forward to allow Arthur to braid. 

He took care in it, starting at the very front and working in sections as he went, careful to keep them all around the same size. He worked in silence, seemingly very focused on the task, so Charles basked in the comfortable lull in conversation. Only when Arthur finished and asked him to hold it while he grabbed a piece of cloth to tie it off with, did Charles open his eyes, which he didn’t realize he had closed. He obliged as Arthur reached for one of the final scraps of shirt and ripped off a narrow shred to secure the braid. They stood, then, evening having finally fallen to night around them. Arthur held a hand on the small of Charles’s back as they walked to the horses, making sure he was steady. 

“We should take the same horse back to camp, just in case something happens to your shoulder,” Arthur proposed as they neared Wendy and Taima. Charles rolled his eyes fondly at the suggestion, but agreed. Arthur helped Charles into Taima’s saddle before climbing onto her rump and reaching around him to hold the reins. He pressed a kiss against the back of Charles’s neck, just next to his braid, before he pulled the reins to the side, leading Taima toward camp.

**Author's Note:**

> hello i stan two (2) cowboys with my entire heart  
> if u liked this please feel free to leave a comment i promise that you will make my entire day  
> my charthur tumblr is [here](https://transcharthur.tumblr.com)!


End file.
